


Holding Back the Fire

by GoldenTruth813



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Communication, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Implied Switching, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, M/M, Praise Kink, working together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-29 18:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15735075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: Harry’s always hated praise, so he doesn’t understand why the idea of it coming from Draco makes him want it in ways he’s never wanted anything before.





	Holding Back the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to restlessandordinary and TDcats for the beta <3
> 
> This fic is honestly so self-indulgent because I live for praise kink in Drarry. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Everything went to hell the day everything went right.

Harry had been seeing Draco for close to nine months when _it_ happened.

Draco wasn’t his boss, not technically, and Harry had definitely thought about that technicality on more than one occasion. Because if he had been his boss then slowly developing on a crush on him would’ve been wholly inappropriate. They just worked together was all.

Yeah, he’d thought about that often.

Because they both worked for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, they worked on the same floor of the Ministry which meant they saw each other daily. But while Harry had chosen to work as an Auror, Draco had taken another course of study after leaving Hogwarts and had somehow ended up working for the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. Which meant his department and Harry’s worked together a lot.

Quite a lot in fact.

So yeah, technically, Draco wasn’t Harry’s boss—even if he thought he was at least once a week when they were forced to work together to go over leads for a case or exchange notes on confiscated or cursed objects. It was just that Draco liked to boss Harry around, and Harry, well Harry didn’t like to be told what to do—even by his actual boss—which usually ended up with them arguing loud enough someone from one of their Departments tried to cast a Silencing Spell at them.

Despite the fact he and Malfoy got into an argument just about every time they worked together, the heads of both of their Departments still saw fit to repeatedly have both of them liaise between Departments. It honestly made zero sense to Harry who, upon the first few weeks of working with Draco, was pretty sure he was going to lose his mind. Draco was particular and bossy as fuck and didn’t seem to trust Harry to do his job or his paperwork, which ended in more than one heated argument from which Harry’d been forced to simply turn and walk away, ignoring Draco’s indignant shouts behind him lest he blast a hole through the wall in frustration.

To say they hadn’t gotten along at first would be a gross understatement. Harry had, on more than one occasion, contemplated quitting his job solely so he didn’t have to deal with Draco on a regular basis.

Yet, as the weeks turned into months, as they worked together more and more instead of less and less, well, Harry’s animosity slowly began to fade into mild annoyance. And as the annoyance faded, it was gradually replaced by something Harry didn’t dare call friendship lest he overstep and ruin the comfortable working environment they’d cultivated, but was most definitely something _good_. But in his most private moments—when they were sharing a pint in the local pub to celebrate closing a case, or when he was curled up on his sofa alone listening to the Wireless and nursing a glass of Firewhisky—he definitely thought of Draco as his friend, even if it was only in the privacy of his own mind.

Making things even more complex was the fact that the longer they worked together, the more Harry thought he understood why Draco was in the position he was in—he was good at his job, just like Harry. For everything Draco did that made Harry crazy, he did plenty Harry rather appreciated—his paperwork was always perfect, he was good at making tea when meetings ran long without being asked, he never slacked off and left his work for Harry to finish, and he noticed the small details that other people didn’t, the details that helped solve cases and save lives.

Harry found himself noticing things he never would have before, like the fact that while Draco repeatedly checked Harry’s reports and fixed errors, he never told anyone about it. He apparently, despite Harry’s initial suspicions, wasn’t trying to get Harry in trouble or make him look bad, he was simply trying to help, to solve the cases. Or that even though Draco’s workday started half an hour later than Harry’s, he somehow showed up in the tearoom five days a week at the same time as Harry, conveniently making an extra cup of tea ‘by accident’. Harry noticed Draco always wore green on Thursdays and that he kept exactly three peacock feather quills in his desk drawer which he only used for filling out reports, never for meetings or taking case notes. He noticed Draco was crankiest when there were children involved in the cases, and when they couldn’t solve a case Draco often went home later than anyone else in either of their departments, including Harry.

Harry mostly noticed there was a lot to admire about Draco Malfoy. Draco was thorough, diligent, thoughtful, and really fucking smart. He was an asset not just to the Ministry, but to Harry, which was a fairly overwhelming if not altogether surprising realisation.

It wasn’t that Harry suddenly thought Draco had magically become a new person or that he was perfect. They still argued. _A lot_ . And Draco still made him fucking barmy when he refused to listen to Harry’s hunches or when he complained about the inefficiency of the Auror Department. But Draco’s bark had a lot less bite and the truth was, Harry knew at least half the reason Draco was an insufferable know-it-all was because he _actually knew it all_. Draco was exceedingly good at his job, able to spot counterfeit objects quicker than any of the Aurors on Harry’s team, and had a keen eye for charms and dodgy defensive spells. He also had impeccable instincts and a keen mind to back them up, and Harry was hard-pressed to deny how attractive it was to be so equally matched both in intellect and temper.

So yeah, they still argued and butted heads regularly, but they also worked together exceedingly well, their deficits and strengths balancing each other out better than Harry could have ever imagined. It was strange to realise they could be so different in personality but so similar in temperament.

After nearly a year of working side by side, Harry knew it was no longer just the long hours on the job that had him following Draco to the lift on a cold Friday night in April and asking him out for a pint to commiserate their long hours on the job. Harry wanted to do a lot of things with Draco, but talking about their jobs wasn’t one of them. At least not that night.

Of course Harry had been half-convinced he was crazy and had imagined the lingering looks and touches, that the long hours really were getting to him. At least until Draco had met him at the pub an hour later wearing impeccably tailored charcoal-grey trousers and a dark-green jumper that looked so soft Harry’s hands curled around the pint glass he was nursing to stop himself from touching. The most surprising thing Draco was wearing, though, was a smile—not a smirk or the friendly smile he showered Harry with at work but a relaxed one —a private smile that left Harry with no doubt whatsoever what Harry wanted from Draco, well, Draco wanted it too.

Remembering how he had worried that Draco wouldn’t show, Harry now wondered how he’d doubted their chemistry. Whatever was between them, whether it was antagonistic or symbiotic, their chemistry was electric. The hours passed by in a blur as drinks were downed, inhibitions were lost, and the fluttering seeds of trust were planted.

They didn’t sleep together that night, nor on any of the next five dates and boy, was Harry counting.

Instead it was more of a gradual progression, a natural acknowledgment of mutual desires that had Harry wanking himself raw every night in sexual frustration. He was still satisfied emotionally in a way he could have never anticipated. This wasn’t to say he didn’t want to sleep with Draco, Merlin did he ever. But he found while he’d somehow expected things to move faster, he wasn’t in the least sorry they hadn’t.

When they finally did sleep together, it was just as good as Harry had imagined it would be, and Merlin had he imagined it over the last few weeks—all desperate hands and needy kisses and so much of Draco’s bare skin for Harry to touch and lavish he’d felt nearly dizzy with desire.

The sex wasn’t just good. It was fucking _phenomenal_. Granted Harry didn’t have much to compare it to since he’d never been one for casual sex. His lifetime sexual experiences at twenty-six could be counted on one hand and included Ginny, his sole one night stand with an American bloke he’d met in a bar at his first Muggle Pride event whose name he never  remembered, his six-month relationship with Juliet from Internal Affairs, and a rather sexually satisfying but emotionally unfulfilling fling with Charlie over Christmas last year.

So yeah, Harry hadn’t had many sexual partners for comparison, but he’d had enough to know Draco put everyone else to shame. Draco had a single-minded focus and way of looking at Harry—of touching him in the most intimate or unassuming places—that made Harry feel as if he were the only person Draco had ever wanted or ever would.

Perhaps it was wishful thinking, or Harry’s imagination, but sometimes when Draco pressed inside of him, or vice versa, Harry felt as if they were sharing something no one else in the history of the world had ever shared. Ron had choked on his beer when Harry—relaxed from his third beer and the promise of a night with Draco and his best friends at his favorite bar—told them. Hermione’d smiled behind her glass of bourbon as she’d asked Harry if he’d considered he just might possibly be in love with Draco. Then it was Harry choking on his beer, cheeks heating as Draco waved from the door and made his way over.

Harry’d spent the rest of the night feeling as if his heart might leap out of his chest, positive his feelings were written across his face. Draco hadn’t seemed to notice, or if he did he didn’t show it. They’d gone back to Harry’s place and fucked on the sofa, unable to make it down the corridor to find a bed. Draco had laughed after, taking Harry’s hand and leading him to the bedroom as if it were theirs. Harry had fallen asleep with Draco pressed against his back, positive, for possibly the first time in his life, everything was perfect.

Harry continued to float along, his mood buoyed both by his relationship with Draco and because they’d finally closed the two-year-long case on Flint Donaghue and his black market trade ring consisting of everything from banned wand cores to cursed muggle items. It’d been a brutal and frustrating case, the first one he and Draco had ever been assigned to work on together, in fact. Seeing the thing through, knowing Donaghue was getting justice and that something so horrible had ultimately led Harry to find something so good, well, it had Harry feeling as if he’d cast a Cheering Charm on himself.

“Good job, Harry,” Draco said, clapping him on the back and giving him a genuine smile.

Harry nearly spilt his tea, his mouth falling open in surprise as Draco moved around him to make his own cup of tea. “Did you just compliment me?”

“You can close your mouth, you know,” Draco laughed, pulling a mug out of the cupboard and casting a Cleaning Charm on it despite the fact that it was already clean. “It’s not that surprising. I’m sure I’ve complimented you loads of times.”

Harry swallowed down the lump in his throat, unsure why it had appeared there in the first place. “No, you haven’t,” he answered. Draco wasn’t unkind by any means, he just wasn’t exactly _nice_ either. He was loyal and trustworthy and smart and so funny Harry regularly found himself laughing until his eyes watered, but nice wasn’t exactly one of the first words that came to mind when Harry thought about him. And that was fine with Harry, more than fine, really. Harry liked Draco the way he was, but all the same it was hard to deny the unexpected thrill of being on the receiving end of Draco’s praise for the first time.

The spoon that stirred Draco’s tea paused, clattering against the side of his mug, as Draco lowered his wand and turned to give Harry a searching look. “Yes, well, there is a first time for everything and you did well. Don’t tell anyone I said this or I’ll deny it, but there’s no way either of our departments would’ve cracked this case if it wasn’t for you. You made the connection between Donaghue and the Muggle charity shops, not me. You’re,” here Draco paused, reaching for his tea and removing the spoon before raising it to his mouth, as if needing a moment to compose himself. Harry found he couldn’t have filled the silence had he tried. “You’re rather incredible,” Draco finished, his cheeks heating behind his tea.

Harry was saved from responding by the ding of the bell chiming loudly throughout the Ministry and signalling lunch, which now meant that every employee within radius was suddenly flooding the tea room and crowding Harry and Draco apart in their haste to make tea, find something to eat, or simply chat.

The last thing Harry saw before Draco left the room was Draco flipping him off before laughing and squeezing out of the small space and presumably heading back to his office where Harry knew he preferred to eat his lunch in peace and quiet.

Something in Harry that he hadn’t even known was there was awakened and it made Harry ache in a painful rush of confusion and desire. He’d never wanted to please someone, not like _this_. He’d always vehemently hated the way praise had felt when it had fallen from other people’s mouths, deserved or not. He didn’t like the way it felt to get accolades for managing to stay alive or doing his job or simply being a decent fucking human being. Harry could not deny that it felt entirely different falling from Draco’s mouth, genuine in a way praise had never felt from anyone else.

Harry fell into bed that night with his hand curled around his cock and Draco’s words curled around his heart.

The next morning Harry tried to pretend that everything was fine. He got up, hastily ate a bacon butty on his way to work, and succeeded in not spilling his tea down the front of his Auror robes when Draco winked at him as they passed each other in the long corridor separating their departments.

Harry made it through that day and the next and the next. If Draco suspected something was wrong, he said nothing.

Harry even made it through their next two dates, somehow managing to control himself when Draco nipped at his ear and whispered, “What do you want tonight?” as they’d stumbled through the Floo in Harry’s bedroom together.

“Anything,” Harry groaned, knowing full well there was only one thing he wanted but was completely and utterly unable to ask for it.

Draco grinned, pushing Harry back against the wall and dropping to his knees and sucking Harry off until Harry was so close to coming his legs shook, his hands fisted in Draco’s hair. Then Draco simply pulled off, a look of complete satisfaction on his face as he slithered back to Harry’s bed and whispered, “Wreck me, Harry.”

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He nearly fell on his face in his haste to get to Draco, his trousers and pants twisted around his ankles and his brain not quite up to par. He kicked them off, ignoring Draco’s laughter before climbing onto the bed. By the time Harry divested Draco of his clothing, he wasn’t laughing anymore. They became a tangle of arms and legs and Harry felt dizzy and breathless as he came inside of Draco realising that the things Harry wanted, needed, were the same things Draco wanted.

Except, perhaps, for that one thing. That one little thing. That one thing that didn’t feel quite so little as time went on.

As the days turned into weeks, Harry found himself driven to distraction by his desire to please Draco, desperate to hear praise falling from his mouth just one more time. He found himself waiting with bated breath for words that didn’t come. And why should they? It wasn’t as if Draco knew what Harry wanted. In fact Harry could recall on one occasion drunkenly confessing to Draco how much he hated when people fawned all over him. Draco respected Harry, ensuring that their relationship stayed within the boundaries Harry himself had set up.

The problem was that some of Harry’s boundaries had changed, and the only way he was going to get what he wanted was to ask for it.

The idea of asking for what he wanted made Harry feel like he might chunder into the nearest rubbish bin. He spent a weekend working himself up to confessing his desires to Draco. Because they were friends now— _lovers_ —Draco wasn’t going to laugh at him or use this against him. Even if this turned out to be one thing Harry wanted that Draco didn’t, well, they could work past it. He’d spent most of his life not being praised by anyone, he could certainly go the rest of his life without being praised by Draco. Or so he kept telling himself.

The problem was the longer he waited, the more the idea settled itself into Harry’s brain, weaving a web of truth through his heart he could no longer deny.

He felt it in the way the breath left his lungs when Draco kissed him, in the way Draco’s laugh reverberated throughout his chest, and the way his every nerve ending was set aflame by Draco’s touch.

Harry was in love with Draco and he wanted, no _needed_ , this. He was twisted up inside about it, about the weight of how fucking much he wanted to hear Draco tell him he was good. He didn’t understand why he wanted it so much. Why he needed it. He didn’t understand why suddenly Draco’s kisses and touches weren’t enough. Dissatisfaction and longing built up, threatening to drown him.

He was filled to the brink with shame thinking something was missing between them because of _him_. It was a strange sort of helpless and shame that twisted in his gut when he thought that it was something about him and him alone that was ruining this thing between him and Draco, and that it would be his fault if it ended because of this stupid, silly, weird thing he wanted.

Harry tried to tell Draco, really he did. He tried to tell him when Draco handed him a perfectly sweetened cup of tea before their interdepartmental meeting with Robards on Tuesday. He tried to tell him over soggy fish and chips at the chippy downtown, and he tried to tell him over the double-scoop sundae they shared Saturday night before Apparating back to Draco’s flat and staying up half the night fucking. The problem was every time Harry opened his mouth to broach the subject, his words and courage failed him. All he could think of was Draco telling him _no_. Harry had never cared if someone told him no before, but this time he was not sure he could handle hearing the word from Draco.

All Harry could do was think, _I can’t fuck this up by asking Draco for something he won’t want to give._

Weeks went by, and still Harry couldn’t force the words out. Instead he tried to content himself with taking the secret to his grave. Whatever Draco gave him now had to be enough. It was more than Harry’d ever thought he’d have, and he was arse over tit in love, so things were fine.

Except for the fact that maybe they weren’t.

  


***~*~*~*~***

  


“I think we need to talk,” Draco said as his long fingers curled around the handle of the mug in his hand. The mug was a jarring shade of chartreuse, a tiny niffler wearing a crown and a long gold chain around its neck waving from the front. The word “Hustler” was written in bright gold font, and Harry choked down a laugh. Draco had clearly nicked it from the tearoom. What had started as a joke the previous week with Ron and Seamus stealing the other’s mug and replacing them with something garrish and ridiculous had spread to other departments, and every time Harry went into the tearoom the mugs in the cupboard were more outlandish than the day before. Most everyone, Harry included, tried to get to the tearoom earlier than anyone else to grab the least offensive mug. Draco, on the other hand, seemed to take great pleasure in choosing the most ridiculous one he could find, which did funny things to Harry’s heart every time he saw Draco’s pleased smile when he found a new mug he liked in the cupboard. “I said—”

“I heard you. I’m just busy.”

Draco arched one elegant eyebrow, his lips curling in disbelief as he lifted his mug and took another drink of his tea. Harry knew that look well enough by now. It was the  _you’re not fooling me, Potter_ look. The effect, however, was ruined by the fact that when the cup was tipped backward the niffler fell on its head as gold coins and jewels began to pour out of its—well actually Harry still wasn't entirely sure what you called the folds of skin where nifflers hid treasure, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. Either way it was utterly ridiculous and made it harder for Harry to feel nervous about whatever it was Draco wanted to talk to Harry about.

“Fine, Potter. You go scurry away to your desk and do whatever it is you do when you’re pretending to be busy. Perhaps a game of Exploding Snap or a new macrame project. We’ll talk tonight when you come over to my flat after work.” Draco’s words were teasing but seemed ominous all the same, and not even the mirth in his eyes could allay the sense of dread pooling in the pit of Harry’s stomach as he watched Draco walk to his office.

The rest of Harry’s day was shot to shit, his concentration was an actual joke, and his mood was even worse. After botching up his case notes for the third time in an hour he took an extra long lunch—if eating nothing but half a treacle tart right out of the baking tin with a spoon because he couldn't find a fork while standing in the dark in his own kitchen counted as lunch—before heading back to the office. Unfortunately the second half of his day was not any better.

By the time Harry got off work, went home for a quick shower and a fresh change of clothes, and stepped through the Floo to Draco’s flat at half past seven, he was pretty sure he’d rather be walking into the Forbidden Forest again rather than face the prospect of Draco dumping him. He’d known what he wanted would eventually be too much. Even if what he wanted was something he’d never been able to give voice to, it’d still managed to overwhelm Draco.

“Draco?” he called, surprised to find most of the lights in the flat off. Usually Draco had them all on until he went to bed, nearly blinding Harry with brightness.

When he received no answer, Harry meandered across the spacious living room towards the corridor leading to Draco’s bedroom. Light spilled out through the cracked doorway and poured into the dark corridor creating a pathway of light. He pushed the door open slowly, surprised to find Draco sitting on the edge of his bed in nothing more than a pair of sweats that looked like they cost as much as Harry’s newest racing broom and one of Harry’s favorite t-shirts he’d thought he’d lost weeks ago. The faded image of a sleeping Dragon on the t-shirt was a juxtaposition to Draco’s usually polished looks. Harry’s chest ached as he stood in the doorway, unsure what to do or say to Draco for the first time in months.

“Hi,” Draco murmured, brushing the hair out of his eyes as he looked at Harry. “You gonna stand there all night or you planning on coming closer? I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.” He winked and the tight feeling in Harry loosened. This didn’t feel like being dumped. This felt decidedly normal—domestic even—and Harry kicked his trainers off into the corner before padding across the room and plopping down on the bed beside Draco.

“Scared, Potter?” he teased, his fingers sliding across the velvet duvet to rest in the space between them. The space Harry had left. Draco was giving Harry an opening.

“Never,” Harry answered. Draco laughed, his lips turning up in a smile as Harry covered Draco’s hand with his own.

“You know you can tell me things right? I know—I know we’re not always the best at communication but if something is bothering you, you know you can talk to me, right?”

Harry wanted to nod but he felt immobilized. Draco’s thumb moved in soothing circles across the top of his hand.

“I—” but the words caught in his throat. It was ridiculous. It shouldn’t be this hard. Harry felt like a coward

“Just tell me, ok? Whatever it is can’t be worse than the things I’ve been thinking for the last few weeks. I tried to give you space. I thought maybe it was a fluke, but the way you look at me lately. Fuck, Harry. It’s killing me. Please.”

Harry closed his eyes, unable to look at Draco’s face as he opened his mouth to speak. “I want you to tell me I’m good.”

“You— _what_?” Draco sounded confused and Harry couldn’t blame him. It was weird, he knew it was weird. He supposed it was a good thing Draco’s flat had so many Anti-Apparition wards or he was positive he would’ve Disapparated already.

“I want you to praise me,” he forced out as he opened his eyes, refusing to make eye contact with Draco, too afraid of what he might see. Instead he focused on the ornate swirls of gold in Draco’s carpet, wondering why he’d never noticed how much they looked like snakes.

“What do you want me to say, ‘Oh Harry, we couldn’t have closed the case yesterday without you, you’re such a genius?” His words were tinged with laughter and while Harry knew it wasn’t cruelty, it cut through his insecurity sharper than a knife.

Harry yanked his hand out of Draco’s hold and rose off the bed, his hands nearly shaking. “Fuck you!  You don’t need to take the piss, alright.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “Wait, you’re serious?”

Draco rose from the bed, taking small steps toward Harry as he took in a shuddering breath. The room felt too big and too small all at once and he squeezed his eyes shut, stumbling backward until his back collided with the hard wall.

“Hey, look at me,” Draco whispered, his hands on Harry’s face.

Harry blew out a breath, shaking his head.

“ _Harry_ , look at me. It’s just me,” Draco said, his voice full of a calmness and sincerity Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever heard from Draco before. He opened his eyes, his cheeks burning beneath Draco’s palms as he allowed himself to look at the other man. “That’s better,” Draco breathed.

Harry grunted out a sound of disagreement. It didn’t feel better to him. He felt raw and exposed, and he wanted very much to shove himself face down in Draco’s bed and hide beneath his obscene amount of pillows and never come back out.

Draco's gaze was questioning, his thumb gentle as it stroked over the side of Harry’s face. Slowly his heart stopped feeling like it was going to explode and his breathing evened out as he kept his eyes locked on Draco. This wasn't so bad. This was only Draco. He'd seen Harry at his absolute worst more times than Harry could count, and while at one time in his life that had filled him with unhappiness, it now felt decidedly different. It felt a lot more like Harry didn't have to pretend to be someone he wasn’t.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered when he found his voice. “I'm not easy to love.”

The second the words were out of his mouth Harry regretted them. _Love_. Fuck.

“No, you're not,” Draco agreed, not missing a beat. He dropped his hands from Harry's face and cradled his hips instead, pulling him flush against Draco's chest. Harry buried his face in Draco’s neck, closing his eyes and inhaling the familiar scent of Draco's freshly showered skin—clean and crisp. “But neither am I.”

Harry exhaled slowly, the rhythmic rise and fall of Draco’s chest against his own soothing in a way he had only begun to admit he needed.

Draco’s hands moved from his hips to his back. Draco’s broad hands moved up and down Harry’s back several times before his left hand traveled upwards until his fingers carded through Harry’s hair, tugging softly in a silent plea for Harry to move his head. Harry momentarily debated keeping his face where it was, still more than a bit embarrassed.

Harry heaved out a sigh before he complied, pulling his head back and fully expecting Draco to open his mouth and speak. Draco opened his mouth all right, but instead of talking, he pressed it against Harry’s. Harry groaned into the kiss immediately, his own hands flying up to grab Draco’s shoulders as Draco’s lips devoured his own. Draco was an amazing kisser and knew exactly what Harry liked, nipping at his bottom lip before sliding his tongue into Harry’s mouth and grinding their hips together.

“Draco,” Harry moaned, his brain working enough that he started backing them towards the bed, knowing whatever Draco had in mind would be better done there.

Draco hummed into the kiss, letting Harry maneuver them until their thighs were abutted the side of the bed, but still Draco didn’t break the kiss, sucking Harry’s bottom lip into his mouth hard as his hands slipped beneath the hem of Harry’s t-shirt, his nails dragging across the quivering muscles of Harry’s stomach.

“Too many clothes,” Draco murmured, releasing Harry’s bottom lip from his mouth to speak. Harry nodded wordlessly, panting as he grabbed hold of the back of his t-shirt just below his neck and tugged it off in one graceless move. He barely registered his glasses falling off his face and clattering to the floor, too preoccupied by the sight of Draco’s pale shoulders as he removed his own shirt. Fuck, but Draco was beautiful. Harry wanted to touch him so badly he ached with it, but touching meant Draco might stop getting naked and Harry definitely wanted him naked.

“Stop staring and take off your trousers, Potter,” Draco laughed, the teasing lilt of his voice sending a shiver through Harry.

“Fuck you,” Harry laughed as he popped the button on his jeans, shoving them down with his boxers in one go, his cock springing free as he kicked them both off.

“Mmm, you could. Or I could fuck you,” Draco said, somehow managing to make removing his boxers and sweatpants look like a sex act in and of itself as he slowly pushed them down to his ankles, pulling out one long leg at a time.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered, and Draco’s amused laughter rang through the room as Draco reached out to trail his fingers down Harry’s side.

“I love when you’re at a loss for words. So much easier than when you won’t shut your trap,” Draco teased, gently pushing Harry back.

Harry snorted, amusement and something warm and contented bubbling up in his chest as he dropped down onto the bed, scooting back across the duvet on his arse as Draco climbed on the bed to kneel in front of him. This wasn’t weird. This wasn’t different. This was exactly like it always was with Draco. Easy. Playful. _Perfect_.

“You insufferable fucker,” Harry said, reaching out to tangle his hands in Draco’s hair as Draco straddled his body, his strong thighs bracketing Harry’s waist and his hard cock resting atop Harry’s stomach.

Draco’s eyes were ripe with pleasure, but there was more—something hesitant and open that made it hard for Harry to breathe.

“You want to be good for me, Harry?” Draco’s voice was impossibly quiet and still the words felt as if they’d been shouted with a _Sonorous_. Harry’s face burned and his lips began to form the word no automatically before he stopped himself.

This was Draco. Just Draco. If Harry couldn’t be honest with him about this then who could he be honest with?

“Yes,” he answered, surprised at how much the truth cost. His throat closed off, his hands shaking imperceptibly in Draco’s hair and it took all his courage not to close his eyes.

“ _Oh_ ,” Draco whispered, as if surprised at Harry’s answer. Then it was Draco who shut his eyes, a swell of regret threatening to overwhelm Harry. Fuck, he should have lied. He should have said anything except the truth. But then Draco's eyes opened again and fuck it all, Harry was glad he hadn’t shut his own eyes because then he would’ve missed _this_. Draco looked, fuck, Harry didn’t even have words for the way Draco looked, but he sure as fuck didn’t look bothered by Harry’s confession. If anything he looked close to losing control and Harry couldn’t repress the shiver of anticipation. “You want to be so good for me, Harry? Want to please me?” Draco’s voice was shaky in a way Harry had never heard, his hands fisting tightly in the pillows on either side of Harry’s head.

This time Harry didn’t even entertain the idea of lying. “Yes, so much.”

“Fuck,” Draco groaned, slamming their lips together and kissing Harry as if he might die if he didn’t, might die if he stopped. It was intense and demanding but filled with so much eagerness and anticipation that it felt almost like the first time they’d done this together. “You have no idea,” Draco gasped between kisses, shifting his hips down until their cocks were pressed together and fuck, Harry’s eyes rolled in the back of his head because it felt so good. “You have no idea how fucking incredible you are.”

Harry’s body nearly shook, his eyes falling shut as he shuddered out an unsteady breath. That was, fuck, Harry didn’t know what that was. Comforting. Intoxicating. He’d spent so long rebelling against people telling him who and what he was, against the false praise the wizarding world had lavished on him that he never felt he deserved. In the quietest parts of his mind, Harry had never felt good enough. But this, these words, they didn’t feel false, and as much as Harry wanted to shake his head and deny them, the bigger part of him wanted to bask in them.

“You just— _fuck_ ,” Draco bit out, his entire body stilling. That got Harry’s attention enough to open his eyes and look at Draco, who was poised above him, hair falling into his face and his cheeks flushed pink. Draco’s chest was heaving and he looked overcome and desperate, and all Harry could think was _fuck, that’s because of me_ . Harry felt powerful and powerless, pinned down by the weight of Draco’s gaze. “You make me fucking crazy. You’re so powerful, so fucking _good_ and you don’t even see it.”

Harry swallowed, unsure what to say. Luckily Draco didn’t seem to expect him to talk which was good because Draco chose that moment to begin to move his hips and Harry wasn’t sure he could string two words together, not with Draco’s warm, hard body against his own, their cocks moving together. The friction was enough to make Harry feel crazed, but not enough to come, and he liked it that way, liked knowing they were doing this just because it felt so fucking good.

“Merlin, you feel good,” Draco mumbled, more to himself than to Harry, picking up the pace and rutting against Harry with an intensity that left them both breathless.

“Want more,” Harry managed to get out, fingers gripping Draco’s hip tightly. Draco nodded, shaking the hair from his eyes and sitting back atop Harry’s thighs. Draco was breathless, pink splotches and a sheen of sweat marring his perfect skin. His face was much the same. Draco always turned into a bit of a pointy looking tomato during sex, his nose and cheeks bright red and his face sweaty and open. He looked completely wrecked, and Harry had never found him more attractive.

“What do you want?” Draco asked, a hint of his usual control appearing on his face now that he’d stopped moving.

Harry wanted to laugh. What the fuck kind of question was that? Honestly.

“You,” he said easily, his fingers ghosting across Draco’s chest. “Just you.”

“Sentimental fucker,” Draco breathed out, the small amount of control he seemed to have regained gone in an instant. Harry laughed, his heart lighter than it’d been in weeks.

“I have an idea,” Draco said calmly, hesitation in his eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” he answered easily as Draco took Harry’s hands and lifted them above his head.

“Let’s see how good you can be for me, yeah? Can you do exactly what I ask? Can you be a good boy for me?”

Harry choked out a sob, his eyes slamming shut and his hands grasping at the air. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Harry’s entire body burned with confusion and shame and want.

“Hey,” Draco murmured, strong fingers on Harry’s chin. “I want it. I want you to be good for me. I want this too.”

Harry’s jaw was clenched together so tightly he thought he might break his teeth.

“Breathe, Harry,” Draco said gently, and something in his tone broke through Harry’s walls. Draco didn’t lie, well, not to Harry anyway. And Draco never, ever did things he didn’t want. If he said he wanted this too then he meant it and that was—fuck, that was good. Harry blew out a heavy breath, the tension bleeding out of him as he opened his eyes and took in Draco’s easy smile.

Harry dragged his bottom lip between his teeth, watching— _waiting._

“Good boy,” Draco said, and fuck, Harry’s cock got even harder, letting go of his worries about why he wanted this and simply accepting the praise as it fell from Draco’s lips. “I want you to keep your hands here,” Draco said, his fingers trailing across the pulse point of Harry’s wrist. “I don’t want you to touch yourself, or me. Just let me—let me touch you. Let me make you feel good. Can you let me take care of you, Harry?”

Harry swallowed, blinking his eyes open and stoutly refusing to acknowledge the way they watered at those words. No one had ever, _ever_ , taken care of Harry like this. He’d never let them.

Draco seemed as affected as Harry felt, his hands shockingly gentle as they slid through Harry’s hair and across his forehead to land on his scar. Harry’s lungs felt constricted, his mouth opening and closing uselessly, while all he could do was choke on the air as Draco replaced his fingers with his lips, the softest of kisses pressed on the scar. Draco was the only person who’d ever touched him there aside from Voldemort. His past lovers had stared at it, certainly, their eyes heavy as fingers as they’d watched it while he’d fucked them or they’d fucked him. But Draco had been the first to lavish attention there as easily as he did to the rest of Harry’s body, as if his scar were nothing special. It was surprisingly erotic to feel ordinary.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, Harry. And you’re going to let me, aren’t you? You’re going to give everything you are to me and let me have it, let me have you?” The words were whispered against the bridge of his nose as Draco trailed kisses across his cheek and to his jawline.

“Fuck, Draco.”

“That wasn’t an answer,” Draco said as his lips dragged across Harry’s cheek until Draco was pulling Harry’s earlobe between his teeth and sucking hard. Harry instinctively wanted to touch Draco, wanted to dig his fingers into the strong muscles at Draco’s shoulders or card his fingers through Draco’s soft hair, but instead he kept them in place, knuckles turning white as he fisted the pillow.

“Yes, you know the answer is yes.”

“I do,” Draco agreed, his breath warm against the shell of Harry’s ear. “But I still wanted to hear you say it.”

“Wanker,” Harry grumbled, not at all annoyed.

“We could have a safeword,” Draco said quietly. “Just in case it’s too much.”

Harry swallowed. “Alright.”

“How about Draco Malfoy is a posh prat,” Harry said and Draco snorted.

“The idea of a safeword is to pick something you wouldn’t normally say.”

Harry’s lips tugged up in the corner, his haze of arousal and nervousness buffered by the familiarity of the interaction.

“Coconut,” Harry blurted out. He also said how much he hated coconut then remembered that Draco already knew. Draco knew a lot of things about Harry. It felt nice to be understood.  
  
“Coconut it is,” Draco agreed, grabbing his wand off the bedside table and murmuring a series of preparation and protection charms. Harry wiggled at the familiar but always slightly jarring sensation in his arse.

“Ready?” Draco asked.

Draco looked pleased with himself already and Harry was tempted to tell Draco he didn’t have anything to look that smug about yet, but then Draco was dropping to his elbows, his mouth hovering above Harry’s stomach and before Harry could ask what he was doing Draco’s mouth was firmly attached to the soft bit of stomach beside his belly button.

Harry moaned, once again ready to reach out to touch Draco’s hair and having to mentally remind himself to stay still. He’d never realised what a thing he must have for Draco’s hair, because the idea of not fisting his hands in it this exact moment, as Draco’s mouth moved lower, sucking on the skin at the juncture between his thigh and hip, had Harry nearly whimpering. He was so used to focusing all his attention on his partner, he rarely let himself focus on the way it felt to be touched by someone else.

Harry thought he might literally scream, as Draco lavished attention across Harry’s abdomen dragging his teeth across the dark trail of hair leading to Harry’s cock before sucking on the skin on the other side of Harry's belly button. As Draco’s fingers dug into the soft flesh, he let out a sound of such appreciation that Harry’s toes curled. He’d never in his life felt as if the mundane parts of his body might be so attractive to someone else, and it made his head swim to feel so utterly and completely wanted.

“I love your body,” Draco whispered. Harry knew it was true. It wasn’t as if Draco had ever hidden his very obvious reactions to Harry, especially Harry naked. But knowing Draco was attracted to him and hearing him say it like that—completely undisguised—did funny things to Harry. He knew he wasn’t ugly, but he’d never thought he was particularly attractive either. He liked his eyes and his hair alright, but no matter how much he trained for the Aurors his stomach was still a bit soft and his nose was a little crooked and his knees still looked knobby even though he was twenty-six and not sixteen. While the rest of his body looked like a man, well, his poky knees and elbows made him look like a gangly teenager still. But Draco, fuck Draco was looking at him as if he were perfect.

“I’m ok,” Harry answered.

Draco tutted, the soft strands of his hair tickling Harry’s lower stomach as Draco sucked on the side of Harry’s thigh while the pointer finger of his right hand dipped lower to tease at the crease of his arse. “You’re far more than okay,” he said, the first finger sliding past the tight ring of muscles into Harry’s body. Draco nudged Harry’s leg with his face until Harry got the hint and turned his leg to the side, giving Draco the perfect advantedge to drag his tongue along the underside of Harry’s knee. Harry whined in response, his cock hot and heavy as it bobbed against his stomach when Harry arched his hips. “Want to know why I love your body?”

Harry inhaled a deep breath and nodded, his neck aching from the awkward angle but he was unable to stop looking. Draco made quite a sight, kneeling between Harry’s open legs, his hair a mess, his fingers moving in and out of Harry’s body as he pressed his nose against Harry’s knee. He lifted his head, resting his chin atop the side of Harry’s quivering thigh. “I like your body because it’s strong. Fuck, the things you’re capable of. I’ve seen you duelling in training, heard the way the others talk about you out on the field. You’re fucking incredible and you have no idea the type of awe and respect and fear you can command.”

“It’s not—” but Draco shushed him, nipping at his thigh playfully as he worked a third finger into Harry’s body.

“You're so strong, Harry. You work hard to make sure everyone else is ok. But sometimes you need someone to make sure you're ok, don’t you?”

Harry swallowed his response, wondering why the idea of saying yes felt so wrong. It was ingrained in him to say he was fine—to say he didn’t need anything. His instinct was always to try not to need anything. Except the words Draco was saying were true. He did want someone to take care of him. Not always, but sometimes.

“It’s okay to want it. It doesn’t make you weak.”

Harry nearly drew blood with the force with which he bit his bottom lip. _Fuck_. But wasn’t that the truth. Harry didn’t want to be weak.

Draco withdrew his fingers and Harry nearly groaned at the loss. The corner of Draco’s mouth had turned up in the barest hint of a smile as he put his hands on Harry’s knees and pushed them back on his chest, lining up his cock and keeping his eyes on Harry as he slowly began to push in.

Harry puffed out his cheeks and held his breath. The initial intrusion always twinged with a bit of discomfort.

“You feel so good, Harry,” Draco’s voice was thick as treacle, washing over Harry as Draco pulled Harry’s legs and guided them over his shoulders until his ankles were wrapped around Draco’s neck as Draco’s cock slid in so deep his hips were wedged firmly against Harry’s arse. Fuck but Harry liked it like this, liked being able to watch the movements of Draco’s body as he fucked him, liked knowing Draco was watching _him_ . Harry’d never liked too much attention, never liked being watched, but somehow the idea of Draco’s attention on _him_ , Draco watching him lose control, made Harry feel heady. He liked the idea of Draco’s eyes on him, liked knowing that Draco could see what he did to Harry. The openness Harry felt when Draco fucked him like this was breathtakingly erotic.

The muscles in Harry’s stomach trembled as Draco began to pull out slowly before snapping his hips back hard and deep. Draco dragged the movements out slowly and Harry’s every nerve ending lit up, if his skin were being set afire by the intensity of Draco’s gaze and the maddeningly slow drag of his cock moving in and out. With nothing to do but feel, Harry felt connected to Draco in a way he never had before. There was no frantic pawing at each other, no battle for dominance or playful banter this time. Just the stillness in the air and the heavy, measured sounds of their laboured breathing. Harry found that as the minutes went by his urge to touch Draco faded into the back of his mind. Yes, he still wanted to touch him, he always did. But fuck this was nice. He’d never had someone do this, fuck him with such intensity and wanting nothing in return.

“Fuck, you’re doing so good, I knew you could be a good boy for me if you wanted to,” Draco said, the first words he’d spoken since he’d started fucking Harry. The words were spoken softly, a reverence in them Harry knew well though he had not heard it often. He knew that tone of voice. That was the tone of voice Draco reserved for things that made him happy.

Harry had to close his eyes tight against a fluttering of pleasure so intense Harry thought he might die from it. Draco was pleased with him, and Harry had never felt so fucking good.

“Oh fuck, Harry. You like that don’t you?” Draco groaned, and his movements stuttered a bit. “You don’t—fuck, you don’t know what you do to me.” Draco sounded breathless and Harry wanted to look at him but couldn’t. All he could do was open and close his hands, uselessly grasping at air and trying to remember how to breathe.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful. I should have known you’d be as good at submitting as you are at fighting, if you chose to. And you chose this, didn’t you? You want to be good for me don’t you? You want to do things that please me?”

“Yes,” Harry gasped out, opening his eyes at that. For the first time since he’d uttered those words something about this act of submitting, or accepting praise, made Harry feel powerful because that was the crux of it: Harry had _chosen_ this. Harry wanted this, and apparently so did Draco. This wasn’t something Harry needed that would tear them apart, this was something they could share. This was something Harry could give to Draco and fuck, did that feel nice, to know he could give a piece of himself to Draco and know Draco would protect it, would treasure it.

Something in Draco’s eyes shifted with his answer, as if whatever self-control Draco held on to shattered, and his pace shifted, his thrusts harder and faster.

Harry’s mouth fell open, gasping for air as his throat went dry. He desperately tried to catch his breath as he arched his hips to meet every thrust. Draco’s hands, which had been holding onto his hips, firmly moved, barely dancing across his stomach before Draco wrapped them around Harry’s cock.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry keened, his cock so desperate for attention he felt tingles shoot down his thighs at the touch. He was not going to last like this, not with Draco’s confident hands stroking him, his thumb collecting the precome off the tip of his cock before picking up the pace and fisting Harry’s cock like he fucked him—with the measured skill of a man who knew Harry’s body as well as he knew his own.

“You look so good like that, look so good letting me have you, letting me touch you. You wouldn’t give this to anyone else would you, Harry? Only me?”

Harry shook his head in agreement, unable to find his voice.

“Tell me, Harry. _Please_.” Draco’s tone was even but beneath the surface it was laced with a touch of desperation, as if perhaps Draco wanted this as much as Harry.

“Only you, Draco. It’s been you for a long time,” he confessed.

“Fuck you, you perfect fucking arsehole. I love you,” Draco said, his voice shaky.

Harry wanted to answer, wanted to say _me too_ , wanted to say _I’ve loved you for ages_. But he couldn’t, couldn’t find the words over the rush of emotions threatening to drown him, over the rush of sensations as Draco’s cock brushed up against his prostate and Harry felt his release spilling over Draco’s hand and across his chest.

“Fuck,” Draco gasped, as Harry’s shaking legs fell down to rest at the juncture of Draco’s elbows. Draco leaned forward, bending Harry in half as he kissed him. It was needy and filthy, too many teeth and not enough air, but Harry felt boneless and spent as if everything he was had simply floated away, and he whimpered into the kiss, desperate to give himself to Draco even if it felt as if he had nothing left to give.

Draco’s thrusts turned frenzied, the sound of their skin slapping echoing in Harry’s ears along with the pounding of his own heartbeat before Draco was coming, panting into Harry’s mouth as he shuddered against him.

“Fuck,” Draco sighed, dropping his forehead down onto Harry’s chest.

“Fucking fuck,” Harry agreed, wondering if he would ever be able to feel his legs again, or his brain.

Draco lifted his head to give Harry a look of such soft pleasure that Harry felt his entire body flush. Despite everything they’d just done, and the things Draco had said, none of it compared to the way Draco was looking at him right now—as if his mere existence was pleasing—as if Harry were perfect. He knew he wasn’t, far from it, but fuck did he feel like it in that moment. He was sticky and sweaty but fuck, he felt amazing.

Draco darted forward to press a quick kiss to Harry’s lips before shifting, dropping Harry’s legs onto the bed and pulling out. Harry groaned, stretching his arms and legs out and arching his back as Draco picked up his wand and performed a series of Cleaning Charms on them both and the bed.

When Draco was done he dropped his wand back onto the bedside table and collapsed in a graceless heap, half his body on top of Harry and his chin digging into Harry’s chest. It was perfect.

“Hi,” Harry whispered and Draco laughed.

“Hello.”

Harry felt like a complete twat, but he couldn’t stop smiling. He couldn’t even muster up the energy to feel abashed about his confession or the preceding sex. He felt too fucking good, and Draco was there, and Draco had said he loved him, and Harry felt like he could cast the world’s brightest Patronus in that moment, as if he could take down every Dementor in the world with the memory of Draco’s face.

“You look awfully pleased with yourself for someone who just laid there and did nothing, you complete nutter,” Draco teased, voice laced with amusement as his fingertips drew circles around Harry’s left nipple.

“Well I’m in love with a complete fucking wanker, just call me eccentric.”

Draco’s hand stilled, his eyes lifting to Harry’s. “You have abysmal judgment. You might need to keep this supposed wanker around for a long time. Just in case.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling like a loon. “Yeah, I think I just might.”

The responding smile Draco gifted him with was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen.

“That’s good. Really good,” Draco breathed, resuming his ministrations on Harry’s chest, though if he wasn’t mistaken Draco was drawing hearts instead of circles this time, the sentimental fucker. Fuck, but Harry loved him.

Harry closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around Draco and letting his mind drift into the beginnings of sleep.

This wasn’t just good. This was perfect.  


**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](http://goldentruth813.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Comments and kudos are love


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